


Burden of Proof

by PrincessCharming



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family, Orphans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:17:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessCharming/pseuds/PrincessCharming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set mid-Season 1. Snow and James remember their past lives earlier than expected but when they tell Emma who she is it doesn't go very well. What will make her believe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"We have to tell her," said James.

Snow shook her head and sank back into the couch in her apartment – well, Mary Margaret's apartment. "She won't believe it."

"Snow, she deserves to know who she is. We have to make her believe." James grasped her hand and pressed it. He tipped her chin up and held her gaze lovingly.

"Stop doing that," complained Snow with a smile.

"Doing what?" James grinned.

"THAT. You're giving me your Charming face, Charming."

"I have absolutely no idea what you mean." He leaned in close to her face.

They startled apart at the sound of the lock turning. Entering with arms full of paper grocery bags, a woman with long messy blond curls kicked the door shut behind her.

"Emma!" said Snow breathless with happiness and jumped up to greet her. "You're home early."

Emma looked shrewdly from Mary Margaret to David and back again. "Yeah, not much crime in Storybrooke today. Or any day for that matter. I thought I'd come home early and get dinner ready."

Snow followed Emma over to the kitchen where she dumped the groceries on the counter and started to unpack them. "Um, Emma, I didn't know you could cook?"

Emma glanced at her sideways, pretending to be affronted.

"It's just that well, I've never seen you cook anything before. Except toast, and that was before you destroyed the toaster." Snow struggled to say, trying not to insult her roommate.

"Hey, I realise that I'm somewhat domestically challenged," began Emma, (they both glanced towards the open door of her bedroom where there was more of her stuff on the floor than on the shelves) "but I'll have you know that I can actually cook.

"In fact, I've been cooking dinner for myself since I was ten. Admittedly back then it was peanut butter sandwiches and cold spagetthi straight from the can but still."

Emma grinned slyly and turned around to the fridge, completely missing her friend's expression. Snow looked like she was physically sick.

James went over and put a gentle hand on Snow's shoulder. He knew what was wrong by how she'd reacted to Emma's words. They'd sent their daughter away to an unknown world to give her her best shot—to save her—and she'd ended up in a place with people who wouldn't even feed her?

"David?"

James shook his head to clear away his thoughts. "Huh, what?"

"I asked if you were staying for dinner?" said Emma.

"I'd love to, if that's ok."

"Sure, no problem."

Snow laced her fingers through James's, drawing on his support. "Emma, we need to tell you something."

Snow turned and led James back to the living room and they took their position on the couch once more. They watched Emma intently as she flopped into an armchair and fidgetted into position.

"Ok what is this about? Cos you're kinda freaking me out with the staring."

"Sorry," Snow laughed shyly, suddenly nervous.

"Oh God, you're pregnant aren't you?" said Emma, slouching in the chair.

"What? No!" Snow shook her head rapidly and got tongue-tied.

"Emma, we need to talk to you about Henry," said James, picking up for his wife. Seeing the worry flood Emma's face, he rushed to add, "Don't worry, he's fine.

"Henry was right," said James.

"About?" asked the blonde.

Snow had recovered her voice but it shook slightly. "Emma, the book I gave him, his theory, it's all true."

"We remember who we are," finished James.

"Snow White and Prince Charming." Emma rolled her eyes and smirked. "Very cute. Look guys, if you wanted some alone time for your role-play games you could've just said so. Is this how you're justifying your affair? The old 'oh, we were married in a past life' defence?"

"Ugh, Emma," cried Snow, with a sigh of frustration.

"You can't really believe that you're both characters from a book of fairytales?" said Emma, voicing her long-held skepticism.

"Not just us, everyone in Storybrooke," said James. "Even you."

"Right," Emma scoffed.

Snow leaned forward earnestly. "Please, Emma, just listen. You know the story from Henry's book. We- we're your parents. We sent you through the magical wardrobe to save you from the curse. It was the only way."

"Snow was supposed to be the one who went through, before you were born, but then you came early," continued James, getting lost in the memory of that tragic last day. "When I placed you in the wardrobe, I could still hear you crying. The last thing I ever saw was that you had disappeared."

Snow took over the story again. "The plan worked. You escaped the curse and came back on your 28th birthday just as the prophesy predicted."

She gave Emma a tearful smile. "I'm so sorry, Emma. Giving you up was the hardest thing I've ever done. I only got to hold you for a few minutes, but they were the most wonderful moments of my life."

Snow's face fell to where she was wringing hands in her lap. "I know that when you came to this world, you grew up alone and with people who…didn't realise that you were special."

"But Emma," Snow knelt beside her daughter's chair, trying to get close to her. "We loved you from the moment we knew you existed and—" Snow broke off her voiced choked with tears. "You were _so_ wanted, sweetheart."

Emma had been listening with a blank face, not reacting to anything. She kept her eyes down stubbornly, refusing to look at either of them. She rose from the chair silently and headed for her room.

Her lack of reaction confused James and Snow. "Emma, are you ok? I know it's a lot to take in, but-"

Emma whirled to face her with a face full of anger. "How could you be so cruel?" her words were low and full of dangerous hurt.

"I don't understand-" started Snow, confused.

"And you! What do you know about anything, David?" Emma shouted at James.

Emma continued. "I indulge Henry in his fairytale theory because he's _ten_. Because he's a lonely little boy with a crappy home life and I don't want to destroy his happiness. Not because I think there's any shred of truth in it!"

Tears ran down Snow's face at her daughter's pain.

Emma struggled for words. "Mary Margaret, you of all people should know – you _must_ know how much I want –. And here you are saying all these crazy things and—this romantic story about magic wardrobes when in reality,"

"In r-reality I was found dumped on the side of a freeway like a bag of r-rubbish," Emma was so distraught and trying not to cry that she could barely get the words out.

"Emma, no, I never - " Snow was sobbing, her arms wrapped around her middle as she tried to get her breathing under control.

"Emma, we would never hurt you," said James roughly, hurting for his wife and daughter both.

"You know we-we're telling the tru-th. You _know_ ," gasped Snow.

She was right. Emma could tell when anyone was lying. Especially someone she knew as well as she did Mary Margaret. She forced herself to remain calm and cold. "That just means you believe your own delusions. Henry isn't lying either."

"No, it's because Henry knows the truth too," insisted James.

Emma ignored him and turned to Mary Margaret. "I'll pack my things. I'll get a room at Granny's tomorrow." She turned on her heel and stalked into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Snow let out a ragged sob and her legs gave out beneath her. James was quick enough to catch her and they sank to the floor. Snow threw her arms around him and held on as if for dear life.


	2. Chapter 2

It was early morning. James stared at the kitchen bench waiting for the other members of the apartment to rise. He had stayed the night again to be with Snow, not wanting to leave her so upset. He certainly had no desire to leave her for an empty room at Granny's.

It had been four days. Four days since he and Snow had told Emma the truth about who she was. And nothing had changed since their fight.

Emma was still living at the apartment. She hadn't said anything, so James figured she'd either changed her mind about leaving, or hadn't been able to get a room at Granny's, or knew that he had a room there. Frankly, he was surprised – and relieved – that she hadn't decided to sleep on the cot at the sheriff's station given how angry she was.

Every morning Emma would grab breakfast and head to work, all without acknowledging his presence. She barely said a word to Snow, replying to her questions and endevours to reach out to her with a stony faced politeness. Snow put on a brave face whenever Emma was around, but James knew how much the rebuffs hurt his wife. As soon as Emma left for work, Snow would return to the bedroom. She would call in sick for work, and then she'd spend all day lying in bed, sometimes crying softly, other times staring into space waiting for Emma to get home. Nothing Emma said or did was as painful as not seeing her. And nothing would make her stop trying to make amends.

The objects of his worry both entered the kitchen at the same time. One, dressed and ready in dark skinny jeans and leather jacket complete with Sheriff's badge. The other, still in rumpled pyjamas looking bleary-eyed from another fitful sleep.

"Good morning Emma," said James, not expecting a reply.

He rose to press a kiss to his wife's temple and cupped her face with his palm.

"Morning," he whispered. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," Snow said with as much brightness as she could manage. She smiled at her daughter who was searching the cupboard for the ingredients for her breakfast. Every morning Emma ate the same breakfast. Froot Loops with milk and sugar. So childlike and so very unhealthy. The kind of thing a child would eat when her parents had left her without supervision.

"Emma?" Snow grabbed the Froot Loops box off the bench and waved it. "I – I could make your breakfast for you, if you want?"

Emma fixed the pixie-haired woman with a sarcastic glare and took the cereal box from her. "I know everyone thinks I'm a screw-up but I'm pretty sure I can pour cereal, thanks."

Snow tried her best to look unfazed and took one of the stools next to James at the bench.

"Do you like unicorns, Emma?" asked Snow, cheerfully, as though nothing was wrong between them.

Emma nodded, crunching on a mouthful of Froot Loops. "Sure, they taste like chicken."

James snorted with laughter in spite of himself at his daughter's deadpan quip. He saw his wife's mouth drop open in shock.

"Um, that's," started Snow, slow to get the joke. "Oh right, you're kidding.

"I was just remembering that…i-in your nursery you had about fifteen toy unicorns." The quaver in Snow's voice showed how nervous she was, re-introducing this topic. James smiled. She was trying to get Emma to see the real everyday-ness of their former lives. He squeezed her hand lightly.

"Every market day your father would oversee the livestock sales and when I was pregnant with you he would always come back with a toy unicorn. He couldn't resist buying them. James had them strung up into a mobile for your crib," Snow smiled lovingly at her husband.

"Snow was convinced she was having a girl," said James, returning her gaze. "Besides, unicorns are beautiful powerful beasts…"

"But Emma, do you know what happened to those unicorns one day?" said James innocently.

Snow whirled around at him in alarm. "James…"

"You know how sometimes pregnant women get a little emotional …Well, one day your mother threw them-"

"Charming!" cried Snow, horrified. She socked a punch into his shoulder.

"What, ow! It was funny!" he muttered, defensively.

"Wow," said Emma loudly, to break up their tiff. "You guys have shown an impressive endurance in keeping this up. But I've got to get to work." She dumped her bowl in the sink, grabbed her keys and left.

* * *

When Snow had disappeared into the bathroom, James bolted outside to catch Emma before she drove away. He put a hand on the car door to prevent her opening it, earning him a fierce glare.

"Emma, wait," he pleaded.

"What do you want, David?" said Emma, evenly.

"I want to talk to you about Snow… okay fine, about Mary Margaret," he amended, when she gave him a sarcastic eyebrow raise.

"Can't you see what this is doing to her? She's beside herself with worry about you. Okay, even if this _is_ a delusion…she really believes it, you said so yourself."

Emma folded her arms across her chest and waited for him to go on.

"Think about it. She's just remembered her other life, a life which her stepmother has tried to destroy many times. And it feels like only minutes ago that she gave birth to a daughter that she had to give up. She's a mother mourning her lost baby."

"You know I don't believe any of that." Emma's gaze flicked away.

"She thinks her daughter hates her!"

"I don't hate her," said Emma quietly. "But she can't be my mother. We're the same age. It's impossible."

James nodded, frustrated. "Fine. But Mary Margaret is your friend isn't she? Does she deserve how you're treating her? Is this what you always do, Emma, push people away when they get close enough to love you?"

"You know nothing about me. Now, get – away- from the door," said Emma in a low voice.

James raised his hands in mock surrender and stepped back.

"Well, when you're finished punishing us we'll be here. Because we're your family. And no matter how hard you try you can't push us away. Especially Snow. She won't let you."

Emma rolled her eyes and yanked the car door open. She turned to David and said with a mocking sarcasm, "Did you just give me a parental lecture, David? Cos let me tell you, I've had plenty of foster Dads try that on me before and it's never worked. What makes you think I'll listen to you?"

David grinned and shoved his hands in his jean pockets. "Because you're still here … and I _am_ your father."


	3. Chapter 3

That afternoon, Emma glanced at the clock and let out a sigh. Ordinarily she would've left work by this time. Not much crime in Storybrooke when Regina and Mr Gold weren't up to anything. Plus the station phone redirected to her cell when she wasn't there in case anything urgent called. So she really didn't have a reason to be there, but she'd been hanging around idly, watching the time grow later and later. She didn't want to go home yet.

Home. She'd never had a real one. To Emma 'home' had always been a figure of speech for 'the place where she slept and kept her stuff'. She knew that's not what most people conjured with the word. But now, she had Mary Margaret and—

"Henry! What are you doing here?" Emma sat up and let her feet fall from where they were propped up on her desk.

"Hey Emma!" chirped Henry, always happy to see her. He was still wearing his school uniform and backpack. "Is Miss Blanchard okay? The school said she was really sick. Do you think I could visit her?"

"Oh Henry, I dunno…" Emma said, trying to think of an excuse. "She's… not feeling well."

_Yeah, she's not feeling well! She's depressed because she thinks I hate her guts,_ thought Emma with self-loathing.

"Okay,' sighed Henry. "Maybe when she's feeling better. Everyone in class misses her. We've got Mr Grady instead and he's really boring."

Emma smiled fondly at her son. Every day with him was precious time she thought she'd never get to have. She'd been unsure at first, when she'd first met him, but then he'd captured her heart and wouldn't let her leave. She'd gotten to know him. She couldn't imagine how she'd feel if – if her child hated her.

"I gotta go see Archie soon. I just wanted to see you today," said Henry.

"I better be going too," said Emma, checking the clock again.

"Oh, hey Emma? Can you give this to Miss Blanchard, please?" Henry held out a hand-made Get Well card.

"That's sweet, Henry." Emma smiled wryly at the card. Henry had drawn a comic-book style version of Snow White looking fierce holding a sword. Not the traditional incarnation surely, but it spoke of the boy's hero-worship towards his teacher. She hoped there would be no harm in the fantasy.

"And this is for you," said Henry, shoving an envelope into her hand.

"Bye Emma!" Emma watched Henry run out the door with a wave. She gathered up her keys and sighed, making her way out.

* * *

Snow had spent the whole day in a frenzy of cleaning and laundry. She was utterly sick of lying in bed doing nothing but crying and worrying. James had gone out for work hours before. So she'd blitzed the apartment and now was left with only one room.

Emma's room. Her daughter Emma's room.

It was still hard to reconcile the thought of the tiny baby she'd held in her arms for only a few minutes with the assertive closed-off woman she'd come to know as Mary Margaret's roommate and friend. She'd been inexplicably drawn to Emma the first time they'd met – she hadn't merely been indulging Henry and his plan to find his birth mother. Snow had bailed her out and brought Emma into her own home before she even knew her. And Emma was hard to get to know.

Snow cast her eyes over Emma's room, drinking in every detail of her things and where she kept them. Emma didn't have many possessions. She'd claimed it was because she wasn't sentimental but Snow suspected it was because it was easier to leave at a moment's notice without the hindrance of furniture and keepsakes. And for someone who claimed she wasn't sentimental, Emma sure had held onto her baby blanket for a long time.

Snow picked up the blanket reverently and lifted the cream wool to her face, inhaling its scent. It smelled different. Probably laundered many times since she'd wrapped her newborn in it. She ran her thumb across the purple thread that spelled her baby's name and a tear slipped down her cheek.

"What are you doing in here." Snow jumped at the voice behind her.

"Emma! uh I was just… tidying up and…" Snow trailed off weakly. Being caught snooping in Emma's room was not the best way to repair their already fragile relationship. Emma didn't seem too angry though, she noticed with relief.

"I see you cleaned the entire apartment," said Emma. "Thought you were supposed to be Snow White, not Cinderella."

"Actually Ella was my good friend." The memory of her friend's wedding brought warmth to Snow's face. It was the morning of the wedding that she'd found out she was pregnant. She and James had had a hard time keeping the news to themselves, not wanting to take away from Ella and Thomas's big day.

Emma cleared her throat and gently reached for the baby blanket. As she had done countless times, she traced her fingers over her name, embroidered in purple thread. "I told you I've spent my whole life looking for my parents," said Emma. Snow nodded slowly waiting for her to go on.

"Well, that's not exactly true. I started looking not long after I got out of juvie… but the truth is I gave up ages ago because there was simply nothing to go on. My birth certificate had no details of my parents. I went back to the hospital where I was taken when I was found but noone there knew anything. The only clue was my blanket. "

Emma looked down to at the corner of the satin panel where the letters 'SW' were sewn in tiny white stitches. She'd known the initials were there, of course, but they had never been a useful clue before. She'd assumed they were a signature of whoever had made the blanket and she now knew whose name they could belong to … but it was just a coincidence. She forced herself to believe that.

"Apparently one of the hospital workers saw this and came up with the name Emma Swan."

Emma tossed the blanket onto her bed and placed her hands on her hips. She shook her head slowly, staring blankly. "One thing always bugged me about it….Why would anyone go to the trouble of picking out a name and embroidering it onto a hand-made blanket only to abandon the kid."

"Maybe because they never intended to abandon her." Snow said pointedly and then smiled lovingly at Emma. "I made it for you."

Emma folded her arms defensively across her chest, but didn't interrupt.

Snow laughed softly as she told the story behind the blanket. "I'm actually really not very good at embroidery. It took me forever to get the 'E' right. I used to get so frustrated with it, I almost asked Ella to finish it for me. One day, Charming found me sobbing hysterically over yet another piece of ruined satin. That's why I threw the unicorn mobile at his head. Luckily it didn't break. It was made of fairy glass – it repairs itself."

Emma stared at her seriously. "Mary Margaret, this has gone on long enough. I think you should see Dr Hopper."

"You think I'm crazy," said Snow, crossly. "What is it going to take for you to believe?"

"I don't _want_ to believe it," cried Emma.

Snow recoiled liked she'd been slapped as she realised what Emma meant. "W-wait. Not only do you not believe it, but you don't want it to be true?"

Snow felt as though her chest were being crushed. Her daughter didn't want her and it hurt so much. "You hope that it isn't true. Oh Emma, why?"

Emma set her jaw and didn't answer, afraid that she would start to cry. There was no way she was Snow White's daughter. She couldn't be.

"Never mind. It's going to be ok," said Snow, smiling through her tears. She wasn't sure which one of them she was trying to reassure.


	4. Chapter 4

Snow hugged her pillow sleepily and rolled over onto James's empty side of the bed. James had already rose, first as always, to get breakfast the next morning.

" _Snow, come here_!" She heard James call from the kitchen.

The urgency of his voice had Snow suddenly wide awake and out of bed like a shot.

"What is it?" she rushed to his side. He was standing at the kitchen counter where Mary Margaret kept her mail.

"Emma's not here. I found this," said James.

James handed her an envelope like the type bills came in, evidently it had already been opened judging by the jagged rip across the top. 'For Snow White's daughter' was scrawled roughly across the front. Snow took the envelope with a shaking hand and removed its contents.

"It looks like a genetic testing report," said Snow, as she scanned the results with a frown. "It says 'Subjects are first-degree relatives – mother/daughter – match probability 98%'".

"Emma ordered a DNA test to see if we're telling the truth?" said James. It sounded unlikely since Emma hadn't even entertained the possibility of it being true previously.

"No the order is dated several weeks ago. Apparently there was a backlog, for which Maternity One dot org sincerely apologises… Wait, this test was ordered by a 'Mr Henry Blanchard'".

Snow sighed and exchanged a wry look with James. "Henry must've used my credit card again."

"Smart kid." James fixed Snow with a look. "You really need to start checking your credit card statements."

"She must be so hurt," whispered Snow, staring blankly at the doorway to Emma's room.

"You think she's really gone?" asked James.

"I'm not sure." Snow padded over into Emma's room. She cast her eyes over the contents, looking for evidence of a hasty flight, but everything seemed to be in it's usual place. Emma's signature red jacket was tossed carelessly over a chair and her phone was lying on the floor plugged into its charger. The only thing she couldn't see was the baby blanket, she knew Emma would never leave that behind – it was the only clue to her past.

James leaned against the doorway. "She'll be back. I'm sure she just needs some time," he offered, gently.

Snow shook her head and smiled sadly. "You don't know her like I do. She's always ready to pick up and leave whenever it gets too hard to stay."

"We will find her," promised James.

* * *

Snow had gone to get dressed and when she came back she was wearing a face for action. She voiced her intention to set out on foot to look for Emma, despite not knowing where to start or having any idea of where the blonde might've gone. Emma hadn't lived in Storybrooke long and there was no particular place she was connected to, no place where she might find comfort. Except Mary Margaret's flat of course.

"So you're just going to walk around aimlessly? That's not much of a plan, Snow," said James, frustrated that there was nothing he could do to help. He'd have to leave soon or be late for his weekend shift at the Animal Shelter.

"Well, what should I be doing, Charming? Tell me so I can go do it," said Snow, sarcastically, wrapping her scarf around her neck.

He was silent, he knew there was no stopping his wife when she got into a stubborn mood.

"She's my baby girl and I have to find her!"

"I know how you feel," said James softly. "But she's not a baby anymore. Maybe she doesn't want to be found just yet."

Snow set her jaw and glared at him. "Fine. Then she can tell me that to my face when I find her. I'll leave her alone… _after_ I make sure she's alright."

As annoying as it was to admit, Charming had been right. Snow had been pounding the pavement aimlessly for close to two hours and there'd been no sign of Emma. She scoffed at herself. What did she expect to find anyway? Emma standing at some street corner waiting for her? Ridiculous.

But the action of walking made her feel like she was doing something. It didn't keep her mind from replaying every moment she'd had with her daughter since Emma had arrived in Storybrooke. As time went on, her old memories of her daughter were becoming fresher too.

_Her daughter_. Snow smiled at the thought, for the thousandth time since her true identity had returned. She rested a hand on her stomach, still surprised somehow that it was flat. It seemed such a short time ago when Emma had been in there: kicking up a storm in the middle of the night, hiccuping whenever Snow laughed, quietly calm whenever James's voice could be heard.

She'd wondered during her pregnancy about the kind of person her baby would grow up to be. She'd let her hopes and dreams run wild despite the Queen's threat. In somber moods, she worried constantly about whether she'd be able to protect her child. In other moods, she worried about whether her kid would grow up happily. " _What if the baby doesn't like me?"_ she'd asked James fretfully. He'd replied with something charming about the baby being half-him and it put a smile back on her face.

Snow was roused suddenly from her memories, realising she was standing oustide the entrance to Storybrooke Elementary. How did she end up there? She wondered. The school was empty of course, for the weekend, so she didn't expect there to be a soul in sight.

Her heart slammed in her chest when she noticed a figure sitting on the grass with her back resting against the gate.

"Emma!"

* * *

Snow went over and knelt on the ground.

Emma didn't look up or give any sign that she'd noticed. She'd been crying, obviously for a while. Emma was a messy crier. Her face was splotchy-wet and her eyes were red from where she'd been rubbing her fists into them.

She was also clutching her balled-up baby blanket to her middle like it was a lifeline.

"Emma?" said Snow softly. "I'll leave if you want. But I just need to know you're ok."

Emma stared straight ahead. "Do I look ok?" Her voice was rough from sobbing and devoid of any inflection.

"Actually you look terrible," Snow said before she could stop herself.

Emma scoffed with a smile. "Didn't they teach you any tact at Disney Princess school?"

"I didn't go to any – never mind," the pixie-haired woman started to respond before getting the gibe.

"This is pretty crazy huh?" said Emma, quietly. "The curse – fairytales being real – you being my mother."

Emma snuck a look at Snow's face before quickly shifting her eyes.

"I saw the letter," said Snow, after a pause.

Emma nodded. "Henry gave it to me yesterday. He thought it would be proof I couldn't ignore. He was right."

"He usually is. Are you upset?"

Emma finally turned to look at her, exasperated. "Of course I'm upset! An evil queen has cursed a bunch of people to live a zombie-like existence without the ones they love. She's killed for this. And I'm supposed to fight her and–and – save an entire town full of people because of some prophesy? I don't want that. I'm not a hero. I'm not a savior."

"Henry thinks you are. He believes in you."

Emma started to cry again. "I can't win against Regina. She has my SON and I can't even do anything about that!"

"We'll get him back, Emma, don't worry."

Snow handed Emma a lace-edged handkerchief with the initials MM. "You miss her, don't you? Mary Margaret."

"What, no-" Emma tried to deny it. How could she know that? That Emma had hoped it wasn't true was because it meant losing her best friend. The one person who had ever been there for her, the one person who felt like – family.

"Emma, it's ok," said Snow. "I know I'm not her."

Emma sniffed into the balled up hankie.

"But she's not gone either. She's part of me – somewhere." Snow's voiced turned hesitant. "And maybe we could be friends too?"

Emma shook her head and when she finally spoke her voice was thick with tears. "N-no, I want what I've been looking for my whole life."

Snow's heart fluttered hopefully.

"I want my mother - Snow White," whispered Emma and she buried her head into Snow's open arms.


End file.
